Ah, Romania. The sweet smell of fresh, mountain air, 47 types of homemade cheese, and vampire’s castles. This summer, I took a one-way flight to Romania, drove down to Bulgaria, then up again, all the way back to Sweden. Americans like to travel as if they’re in a Wal-Mart: Europe, in a one-stop shopping kind of way.
In Romania, I stayed with a good friend, whose father kept exclaiming, “Americans! We’ve been waiting 60 years for you to come back!” I had always been raised with the attitude that foreign countries were generally not pleased to see Americans, and on vacations my dad wore shirts with various Canadian cities on them. But, having lost my luggage en route, I was unable to hide behind an unassuming country’s flannel wear. Luckily when I faced the Romanians, I was met with unbridled kindness.
Eating dinner with my friend’s grandmother, it wasn’t necessary to even be speaking the same language to understand how generous these people are. Although initially, I was met with a (translated) “Oh, these Americans and their vegetarianism!”, she warmed up to me enough to constantly insist I wasn’t eating enough, reach over and cut the food on my plate, and slowly push a plate of potatoes until it touched my hand, while silently staring at me. When I left, she grabbed my arm and told me we were friends.
In Bulgaria, too, my friend and her family woke early to prepare big breakfasts, and tried to pay for every expense- including a fax I sent. I learned the art of secretly paying a bar tab, although greatly disabled by my lack of Bulgarian. Any time I tried to slip some leva across the table or stuff it between the couch cushions I was scolded. They wouldn’t accept.
As we drove in Romania through windy mountain roads and villages with horse carts and haystacks, and little painted huts to pray in, I made my friend stop so I could photograph the brightly colored gates. At one rusty seafoam green gate, an old woman with a basket stopped with her granddaughter to watch me. I asked my friend to translate between us, and took a picture of them. At the end of a hurried, confusing conversation, the woman grabbed my face in two hands and planted a giant kiss on my cheek. Walking back to the car, my friend said that even if they have nothing, they will give everything. Then she shook her head and told me, “That’s what they do – kiss you like that.”
Being in Romania and Bulgaria made me feel like Scrooge finally coming around to the idea of Christmas. I always thought I had a good heart, and here, these people were giving everything they had, fighting tooth and nail to kill me with kindness.
Erin is currently getting her master's in International and European Relations in Linköping, Sweden. As basically the only American in her circle, she has learned many funny, startling and strange things about people and the world. And so, she will share them with you here.